


Future Study

by smolder



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolder/pseuds/smolder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The scientist wasn't even looking at her this time, instead he was staring at the slowly melting ice. "A few we froze as soon as they were created - for future study."" Post-Transformers 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: Rebels of the Sacred Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.  
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by the band Flogging Molly.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

Mikaela swallowed hard awakening slowly, her mouth dry, her body feeling stiff and distant. Eventually she willed herself to open her eyes. The celling wasn't familiar to her – it wasn't her bedrooms, nor Sam's, or even the high grey support beams that she knew from waking up at the Autobot's base.

Slowly she turned her head scanning the room – and a shiver fell over her when she saw the camera in the far corner. She became fully awake in that instant, adrenaline flooding through her.

Not only had she been taken but she was being watched.

She scrabbled upright, off the bed, tripping in the blankets in her haste. She pressed herself into the opposite corner from the two doors in the room, her back hard against the plain wall and her eyes trained on the blinking red light. Only then did Mikaela very deliberately force herself to steady her breathing, her shaking, try to remember what happened.

She had just gotten in from work and had checked her messages finding a few from Sam. She had happily listened to his offer to come over that evening to hang out at the house with Bee and him. Perhaps a movie and a drive – it was what they usually did on Fridays and she had smiled feeling the stress bleeding off her. A night with her boys was just what she needed after the week she had had.

She texted Sam immediately that she was on her way and then began walking. The others chided her for walking through the parts of town that she did but Mikaela always brushed it off – she had grown up here, she knew how to handle herself.

So it was while she was strolling watchful, but not scared, past the familiar alleyways that she felt a prick at her neck, she had stopped and reached up – and had time to pull the dart out and look at it uncomprehendingly before blackness overtook her.

Now she reached up to the same spot feeling a bandage there. Not moving her eyes from a stare off she could never win she ripped it off, never flinching as it pulled at her skin. With a shaking hand she reached to touch the area – making this nightmare real in her mind.

_It had been a way she had walked dozens of times._

Her daily movements were ridiculously easy to track for anyone who cared to try she realized now, her hand pressing harder against the small puncture wound where the dart had hit her neck – ignoring the pain. She _wanted_ the pain, it seemed to help clear out the drowsiness that was still trying to weigh down her brain – the drug probably she realized with another pang.

She had to wonder at the bandage though. It spoke of someone looking her over – for damage perhaps, but in this circumstance nothing felt that innocent. Her clothes where all still on (her torn up black jean jacket – covered in old oil stains despite multiple washings - over plain tee and blue jeans) but Mikaela was very aware from being amongst Autobots so often that most Cybertronian scans could be done without her knowledge - that was considered unethical of course but she figured _kidnapping_ probably was too.

And anyone who would go to all of this trouble of taking her so carefully would already _know_ about the Transformers - at least enough. Mikaela was acutely aware that outside of her connection to the giant autonomous alien robots all people saw was a pretty girl from the bad part of town. The only reason she got a second glance was to make sure she wasn't following the same path her father did….or to watch the sway of her hips.

_So they'll try and get information from me_ , she concluded. That was alright. She had dealt with interrogation before and she would again. She held just as much loyalty for the Autobots as her father, they were much more her family than blood these days anyway - although she was positive they had no idea of the fact.

_Or maybe they're going to use me as a hostage,_ a darker part of her whispered. And she feverently tried to squash even the thought of that. She hated the idea of being used to manipulate her friends in that way.

So caught in her morose thoughts and her death stare with the camera that it startled her badly when one of the doors opened.

"You woke up earlier than I thought you would, Mikaela," the man said smiling at her warmly. But there was something wrong with the smile, something missing. He looked normal enough brown hair scattered with grey and a slim build under the blue button up and long white coat.

He held his clipboard and watched her, and seemed perfectly happy to wait patiently for her to answer. He could wait forever than though because she had almost unconsciously shifted into a mode she knew well from when she was young. When you were trapped by an authority figure say as little as possible (if you knew information, it was dangerous - and if you didn't it wouldn't matter because they would never believe the car thief's daughter anyway) and keep your eyes and ears wide for any scrap they drop because it might be useful later.

What worried her most of all now though was how he was looking at her – not how she had learned to get used to men looking at her since she had hit puberty and not the way the cops did either. It was something else, something colder and distant.

As if a select amount of time had passed he just nodded and made a note, that easy smile still fixed on his face.

"I'm, Dr. Pratchett," he said. Again he waited but she refused to answer, unease curdling in her gut as another note was made at her lack of response.

"I," he continued, pointing to himself in obvious pride, "am the Head Researcher of the project you are to be a part of. You have no choice in this. But, I believed it polite that you be made aware now that no one will come for you. Your basic needs will be met and we will not harm you as long as you remain cooperative."

The smile had stayed and paired with his matter of fact tone, she fought not to be scared or at least not to show her fear of this man. She had faced much worse – she was almost sure she had.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked, ever patient teacher to unruly student.

Breaking her silence (and a small part of her hating herself for it) she whispered, "Why are you so sure they won't look for me?"

"Our teams were very thorough, Mikaela," he said condescendingly. After you failed to come last night Samuel will assume you blew him off. A few days later worry will set in but when he breaks into your trailer, all he'll find are all of your things are gone and only a letter has been left. And no doubt who it is from either, our forgers know your handwriting thoroughly. It will be easy for him to accept – he never thought he was good enough for you," the smile looked malicious now but she refused to turn away, didn't care if there were tears blocking her vision.

All the _good doctor_ did though was tilt his head and make another notation, and she felt her fingers curl in anger.

"Any other questions?" Dr. Pratchett asked pleasantly.

"Yes," she said in a strong, even tone, that surprised herself. "What is this project?"

"Ah! Excellent question," he exclaimed sounding genuinely pleased. "It's best to start right away." Turning his head he looked into the camera Mikaela had been glaring at earlier. "Send it in," he stated.


	2. Come Pick Me Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.
> 
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by Ryan Adams.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

"What is it?" she asked still on the opposite side of the room where she had refused to budge from even when he gave an impromptu tour of her little cage (including bathroom - the second door - during which time he was utterly out of her sight for a few seconds). She even refused to rise when the main door opened again two men in labcoats entered caring something. Mikaela was to distracted by their escort - the three heavily armed men that had watched her carefully as if she was going to use this moment as an opportunity to run.

(She knew not to. The threat of being shot was barely a deterrent - The Doctor had been much more frightening all on his own. Somehow she thought it would be much better to catch a bullet than to be in his mercies if she tried to run.)

Now he was just giving her his first frown - oddly it didn't feel threatening, more as if he was just disappointed in her. Mikaela found she preferred it to the fixed smile.

"Is it a Decepticon?" she voiced her real worry upon first seeing the vague shape of sharp metal angles through the block of ice. It wasn't very big but she remembered Frenzy and the trouble he was able to wrought despite his small size. 

"It was created while we still had possession of the Cube at the Hoover Dam base," Dr. Pratchett stated evenly. But it was more what he didn't say that caught her attention. The lack of mentioning anyone involved, Sector Seven, any branch of the military, or the Autobots. It made her wonder who was backing him.

"I thought they were all killed," she stated through clenched teeth. Remembering the horror of watching the macabre demonstration - the cell phone made into a little life and then shot in front of them. And with great difficulty she refrained from running her thumb over the scar in the middle of her palm. She wouldn't give such tells in a place with so many cameras.

The scientist wasn't even looking at her this time, instead he was staring at the slowly melting ice. "A few we froze as soon as they were created - for future study."

Mikaela let her expression become a mask and held herself steady, she refused to let it show how much those words told her – of how he saw the Cybertronians and probably her ( _all useful as long as they benefited his experiments. The moment they didn't….)._ But she also refused to be cowed by the knowledge.

She stood and walked over to kneel in front of the block of ice and used the edge of her jacket sleeve to wipe the frost off. When she had a clear view she took her time observing the gentle slope of it's head, the antennas, the long neck and spidery fingers.

Perhaps after being around the Autobots for so long Mikaela no longer found such features alien, or at least not in any way off putting or scary. She found herself smiling instead. "Well, it's quite a lovely little bot, isn't it?" she murmured to no one in particular.

She could feel his stare at her for a long long time. She did not look up.

Eventually he left without another word.

Almost instantly her body relaxed and she let out an unsteady breath. She flung her jacket off and slouched against the block of ice letting her body's warmth help melt it as well - utterly uncaring of the fact that she was soaking her clothing.

As she waited for ice to melt (the weird step-cousin of sayings to watching a pot boil) Mikaela tried to figure out what it was that she was supposed to be doing with a Transformer.

* * *

When it was melted up it's head she saw optics flicker on and Mikaela stroked the delicate head and cooed encouragingly.

"Such pretty eyes, too," she said brightly – the first thing that popped in her mind. She knew she was babbling dumbly but she was going for comfort and hoping desperately that it could understand her – and even if it couldn't than it would understand her tones. Her mind could not imagine being created, instantly frozen, and then thawed – so she stopped trying. Instead she just figured it (and she hated referring to the adorable little bot as an "it" but she clearly remembered Ratchet trying to explain the multitude of sexes Cybertronians had and she didn't want to stick on labels where she shouldn't) was very young – practically newborn – and for all of their differences in species there would be some similarities.

So, Mikaela would be working on instinct here. She really hoped that worked - especially since, being two different species their instinct could very well be entirely different.

It made a whining sound and her heart ached because she knew from Bumblebee the level of pain that represented. She was just going to stop over thinking it starting now. It had no one but her - she knew very well the level of sympathy it could expect from those scientist and she was not going to allow that. She could do this, she could.

"Oh, Lovely, what's wrong dear?" she asked anxiously. But _of course_ even it could understand her there was no way it would be able to speak yet.

Then her arms flexed on where they still rested on the ice and she could almost hit herself for how stupid she was, she knew how badly the bots reacted to cold. "Oh, you poor thing. I'm the biggest idiot in the world. Your freezing, aren't you?" The answering whine was affirmative as well as piteous and instantly made her next decision for her. She didn't care if she got in trouble for it later – she hadn't been expressly told she could speed up the melting process.

"I'm going to pick you up," she warned right before she did. There was no way the little transformer could have stopped her in it's mostly frozen state but she felt it right to warn it none the less.

It made another noise as they both rose and she made sure her grip was firm as she made her way to the bathroom that had been indicated earlier. Silently grateful the door was still opened. Once inside she set her precious armful down on the floor again where it instantly began whining.

"Shhh, it's alright I'm still here," she said comfortingly. "Just making it nice and toasty," she grinned. And she did. Closing the door she bumped up the heating control on the wall as far as it would go and walking over to the shower turned it on hot as well. The room quickly became sauna like and she was forced to strip down to jeans and her bra. Which she did – resolutely ignoring the camera that resided in this room too.

But her plan served her well because the ice was no match for the heat and steam and the little bot made such delighted trilling sound when it was free that she had to laugh with joy as well. And when it reached for her - utterly guileless, like a child wanting to be picked up and having no expectation that it wouldn't she did so automatically resting it's small sharp body against her. Long arms wound around her neck and it's head rested tiredly against her chest – bright white eyes watching intently as she turned the temperature back down and opened the bathroom door a crack again letting the steam out.

Even though she had tried to ease the change in temperature it still burrowed against her when they exited the bathroom. Mikaela absentmindedly started humming as she reached for a blanket to pull around them both.

It bothered her how drained the poor thing seemed. She hated how little she knew - was it normal for it to be so exhausted after being frozen for so long? She knew that the Autobots had a few ways of gathering energy. But their was no energon or fuel available here - and she highly doubted anyway that it's secondary form was any sort of vehicle.

"Do you have a way of getting energy?" she finally just asked. A tired sound very like a sigh and a plug was expelled. Mikaela almost laughed at the simplicity of it that she had skipped over - but of course although she didn't know it's alt form yet she did know it came from Earth technology. She looked around the room and was surprised to actually see an outlet.

Mikaela shook her head, _of course there was_. You would think they could put it on the same side of the room as the bed though.

"We'll sleep over there tonight then," she declared grabbing a pillow to go along with the blanket. She laid down on her back close to the wall, with the little bot on top of her and plugged it in.

"Are you able to convert it, alright?" she asked anxiously and it hummed approvingly.

The lights in the room shut off abruptly then causing her to be forcefully reminded that they were being constantly watched – although that had never truly left her thoughts.

As they lay there in the dark she saw the little head rise and the glow of optics watching her. "What's your name?" she asked feeling silly that she had never thought to ask before. In her defense she _had_ been a bit busy.

A croaking sound came, a voice box trying to work, before she heard it say, "Lovely."

"Yes, that's what I called you," Mikaela said smiling and stroking it's head. "But what's your name?"

It only tilted it's head, long delicate neck stretching to studying her intently (it's pure white eyes somehow holding all the warmth Dr. Pratchett had lacked and so much more) before saying again, "Name. Lovely."

And Mikaela laughed. "Alright. Alright, your name is, Lovely."


	3. Chapter Three: Easily Bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.
> 
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by Matthew Barber  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

She was awoken from dreams of the familiar hum of engines and gently glowing blue by an eruption of chaos. The lights went on at the same moment the door was opened – and Lovely let out a high pitched noise that caused her ears to pop, pulling it's arms from their position they had stayed around her neck throughout the night with such speed that she felt the right slice across her skin. She yelped in pain even as she automatically curled her body around the smaller one, trying to offer what protection she could.

With one look she could tell what was wrong. "Get out," she hissed, over her shoulder not even turning to look at whoever had intruded in her cell.

"Now, now, Ms. Banes. Let's not be rude," she heard the doctor say in his ever patient tone.

And Mikaela had to pause for a moment, close her eyes and take a deep breath, because she knew what this looked like to _her_. The instant human equivalent her brain had made when she saw how Lovely had flinched away from light and sound, curling it's long arms protectively around antennas. But _she_ had no problem equating human pain and emotion to Lovely – she very much doubted those cold eyes boring into her back even afforded their fellow humans that much. ( _Except as something to be noted on his clip board_.)

So, she didn't think he was going to be sated with the – _come back later, Lovely's got a killer migraine -_ explanation. Where yesterday she had worked completely on instinct now she very carefully thought it through, trying to figure out how to say it so that Dr. Pratchett would understand what she had almost instantly. She would be totally talking out of her ass of course but she had done that before - and she was almost positive she could bullshit this.

She just needed to remember enough from Ratchet's talks to make it sound good enough so that he would leave them alone. Mikaela took a deep breath and tucked the blanket over Lovely's head before she stood.

And because she had taken her time, her voice was the same strong, calm tone from yesterday when she faced him. When she started talking he actually seemed to listen, the two men with guns were staring as well (although that might have had more to do with the fact she was still in just her bra and jeans – and now a slowly bleeding cut down her shoulder).

Mikaela ignored them, and concentrated on the doctor, he was the only one that was important in this situation, the one making the decisions. "Now that the bot is charged it's sensors are fully online for the first time. It went to being practically deaf to having to much input to handle," she said keeping eye contact.

"You think you can help with that?" the smile was back across his face. Mikaela didn't answer. What else could she do? _And wasn't that what they wanted anyway?_

"Lovely," he noted as her silence dragged. Again, she didn't get his point. Was it to push home even harder the fact that he was watching – that they would hear everything she said? Or to tease her at the particular name? She wasn't sure so she just stayed quite trying not to show how the barely muted pained noises coming from the pile of blankets pulled at her.

"You name the being yet you still use the pronoun 'it?'," he finally came out and asked the question she figured he was truly curious about, with a tap of his pen against the clipboard. And there was something oddly testing in his tone. But Lovely's long arm had reached out and curled around her ankle entreatingly. And that horrible sound had gotten louder, she saw the men with guns getting twitchy. Mikaela badly just wanted them gone. Now.

And she didn't see how this was sensitive information anyway. The Autobots had never treated it as such.

"They have many more options than we do, Doctor – they only narrow down to male and female here for our sakes. I already accidentally chose a name for Lovely, I don't want to pick out any more of it's identity," she said as blandly as possible given the circumstances.

Then he smiled – an actually pleased expression that almost reached his eyes this time. And that seemed strange to her; all of this did. The more hours she spent here the more she simply abandoned any hypothesis she originally had on why she had been taken. Because Dr. Pratchett never asked any questions about the Autobots.

He never tried to trick her into revealing their numbers, weapons capabilities or the location of the base. He clearly craved information but it seemed to be about Cybertronians in general. She had no way of being sure just yet (God, was it only her second day in this room?) but it appeared that all he wanted was to _watch her_ – to gain information by studying her interactions with the Cube created little bot. And Mikaela honestly didn't get where the endgame was in that.

She hated that blank. That lack of knowledge. There was so much she didn't know - and it felt dangerous.

But for whatever reason, Dr. Pratchett was satisfied now and gestured to his escort and towards the door, "We will return in an hour. After you have calmed the subject, my colleagues and I will examine it."

"I'm going with, Lovely," she stated immediately, stubborn and immovable. Mikaela hadn't just defrosted a baby Transformer to let them harm it.

"Of course," he said with a nod of his head like their would never be an expectation otherwise, his hand moving to make a notation without ever looking down (and she felt her hatred of him move up a notch). "While you are "out" our wonderful personnel will move some of your belongings in here. And leave you some food."

Mikaela continued to stare at his pause. Was he really expecting her to _thank_ him or something? Finally, he held his clip board to his chest and gave her a nod.

"An hour, Mikaela," were his words of parting before the three left. She stayed tense and wary until the door had closed behind their backs. She knew that his physical presence was just a minor part, that the camera in the corner was another pair of eyes (another pair of eyes connected to _him_ ) on her back. But she couldn't help the way she reacted - and she trusted it.


	4. Comfort Eagle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.
> 
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by Cake  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

"Lovely," she whispered her hand hovering uncertainty as she knelt beside the pile of blanket, wincing at the decibel of the noise that was somehow shriller the closer she had gotten. "I know it hurts but your making it worse for yourself. You've gotta quite down a bit."

Instantly the sound shut off, Mikaela's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Huh," she said with a quirk of her lips, thoughtfully letting her hand finally rest on top of the lump in the covers, "glad you took my word for it."

A small head ducked out to look at her before going back under with a hiss.

"Yeah," Mikaela murmured in agreement. "You'd think they would at least turn the lights back off."

Although the noise which she guessed was the Transformer equivalent to a babies cry had stopped their were still whimpers of pain and although she wanted to help she was a bit stumped. Finally irritated at her inaction she just went ahead and picket Lovely up blankets and all.

"Don't know about you, hon," she said in a forcibly light hearted tone, "but I'm tired of the floor."

Mikaela brought them over to her bed in the corner lying back and making the blanket into a small tent around them. Lovely automatically settled with it's head onto her chest again reminding her of a child wanting comfort.

"Here we go now," she whispered. "See, it's alright, we can do this," _God, Mikaela who are you trying to convince?_ she squashed the thought as soon as it crossed her mind, focusing wholly on the little creature that needed her. There was not time for second guessing herself right now.

"Just try to block...," a horrible moan was her answer. "...you can't then," she voiced the obvious response. And looked again at the little bot and it's position against her, an idea came to mind - one she went with instantly. "Well," she continued with barely a pause, "if you can't block everything else out than you'll just have to concentrate on one thing." Those white eyes were watching her desperately as if she was the only solid thing in the world. Lovely trusted her in an utterly complete way Mikaela wondered if she had ever possessed. She actually wasn't sure if humans were able to.

She couldn't look away now though, couldn't falter under that stare.

Mikaela stroked her hand over it's head again and the arms held tighter, head burrowing into her chest. "That's right," she murmured. "You hear that sound right under your head? That's my heartbeat. Just close those beautiful optics, Lovely. The whole universe right now is you and me under this blanket - don't try for any more than that. Just train all of your sensors on my heart beat."

She missed the light the moment it was gone. It soon became stuffy but she didn't move, because this seemed to be working. The desperate tension in the little bots metal frame was easing, the sounds had stopped almost within the first few moments. They stayed like that for a good fifteen minutes.

Finally though, the small space was again lit by two white lights.

"Good?" she asked gently, feeling free to shift her body slightly now.

"Mikaela. Female?," there was a clear questioning tone to the second word. She was working with general impression that Lovely knew everything she was saying (at least the words, if not the complete meanings which she knew could get layered, contextual and complicated). And Mikaela wasn't sure if this was knowledge came from her previous form - which was still hard for her to guess but she bet had something to do with those antennas - or an inherent knowledge. _Did Transformers get that?_

But this question came out of nowhere.

"Well...yeah," she answered lamely, glancing down at her own chest.

"Lovely. Female," there was a determined sound to it's voice.

Instantly, she understood and almost felt like laughing. Of course, even in pain, the little bot had been listening to her earlier conversation with Dr. Pratchett.

"Lovely," she finally sighed. "You shouldn't choose to me a girl just because I am."

"Why?" was the only response. And it was an honest question - _there goes the inherited knowledge thing_ , she thought wryly. But it also utterly stumped her.

"I don't know," she admitted. Because she _didn't know_ how such things were with Cybertronians - if it was something you were born with or something you chose (and if you chose at what age and what the deciding factors were). Mikaela wondered if she was actually being horribly insulting to not be able to just tell by its form.

"Female," Lovely said with a nod.

And like the night before Mikaela just gave in with a small laugh, hoping that when ( _if_ , a part of her whispered treacherously) she ever got out the Autobots wouldn't be to mad at her for botching raising this little one so badly.

Because that is what they had her doing she realized with an odd lurch – what they wanted to study. A human raising a Cybertronian from its creation.

She swallowed hard against the sudden press of responsibility she felt against her. Mikaela knew well how important children were to the Autobots with their world destroyed and sparks so few and precious. It didn't seem right that she was doing this.

All of the Autobots had lived for so long, seen so much. Mikaela had never stopped to imagine them as children, had somehow foolishly thought they had always been the way she saw them. But that was silly, this pointy metal body curled so trustingly in her arms was younger than her. Lovely had never seen Cybertron – had never known the War that now stretched centuries. She knew nothing of Autobots and Decepticons.

She was just a child. A baby.

Mikaela hardly knew anything about raising human children - had never honestly thought that she would ever be a mother. Had never wanted to be.

But Lovely had needed her and now she depended on her, Mikaela was going to try her hardest not to break that trust.

"We'll be all right," and quite confidence burned in her voice.


	5. Chapter Five: Breathe In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.  
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by the band Frou Frou.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

She has time to use the bathroom, clean the blood off the scrape on her shoulder, and grab her shirt (glad it had avoided the giant puddle from the melting ice yesterday) before the allotted hour was up. She is humming as she ties her shoes aware that Lovely, perched on the end of the bed, is watching her closely.

When the door opens, both of their heads shoot up. Mikaela reaches out an arm as she stands and a metal hand grabs it scampering up her body monkey-like until she is clinging to her shoulders, head buried in her hair.

The two armed men are a bit wide eyed, apparently not nearly as comfortable around sentient robots as the unflappable Dr. Pratchett. It makes her smile, pushes her usual confidence forward.

"Are we ready to go, gentleman," she asks perfectly polite.

That startles them into action, they motion her forward but she can see one blush when she walks by. She wonders if they have any idea of why she is here – if they actually know what is on her shoulder – or if they're simply just two men that have been assigned a job.

Her temporary feelings of slight, if not goodwill than at least, indifference towards them evaporate when she sees that instead of a gun one of them is carrying a canister similar to a fire extinguisher but the writing on the side reads: _liquid nitrogen_.

She swallows hard and her hand goes to Lovely automatically. The bot makes a questioning tone but Mikaela doesn't respond, she takes a deep breath and keeps walking. (And she _almost_ doesn't notice as she passes the door frame, how incredibly thick the wall is – but that is something to think about later.)

And apparently the door of her room leads directly to a hallway, grey, wide and brightly lit – with those ever present cameras. The first room they pass is filled with over a dozen people in lab coats who all look up when she passes. She sees banks of screens showing differing views. She only has time to really see one clearly at the speed they are walking but feels distinctly uneasy when she realizes it was her bathroom.

They pass more rooms: people working with chemicals, welding, most just at desks typing and shuffling through papers. But every time they look up and _stare_.

It is not hard now for her to understand why she was so effortlessly allowed out of her room with Lovely. This is all supposed to cow her – and it is hard not to let it. Mikaela had not realized the size and scope of the facility she was kept in before this. And she has the sinking feeling that it is all based around one project, one goal.

_Her._

This is not something she will be getting out of easily.

At the end of the hall they are ushered into an elevator, the numbers are flipped. She frowns at them before the she realizes the obvious answer.

"We're underground," she murmurs.

No one answers her but she didn't really expect it from her silent escort.

The weight on her shoulder is comforting, keeps her grounded and pushes away her mounting panic. Lovely needs her. She can do this.

There is a welcoming party, of a sort, for her when the elevator doors open. Two more scientists on either side of Dr. Pratchett. An older black man with what she almost thought of as the required genius crazy hair and glasses who seemed engrossed in his tablet and a young woman with dirty blonde hair who eyed the bit of metal actually visible with the way Lovely was hiding, hungrily.

"I'm glad you could make it, Mikaela," Dr. Pratchett said smiling. That didn't even begin to deserve a response - at this point she was pretty sure he thought he was being funny and she felt perfectly fine ignoring him and looking around the room as she entered it, her armed shadows following. She noticed the other two scientist sharing a look at their interaction – and again wondered at the _good doctor'_ s position in the workplace.

This whole floor though seemed to be a lab – the size reminding her more of the Autobots hanger than something humans would use. There was a high echoing ceiling _(how far underground where they?)_ and metal tables spaced around evenly like workstations. But where the other floor was busy with people this area seemed abandoned except for the scientists and her escort.

Then she looks farther up and sees the cameras - and remembers the banks of monitors - anything happening here was watched an analyzed by another room full of people. Mikaela forcibly made herself look away.

 _Looking away_ isn't much better though because five sets of eyes are on her. She sets her shoulders and stares right back.

"Place the subject on the table," Dr. Pratchett says smiling all the while, and it is only when nothing happens at his request that the tension in the room ratchets up.

She knows Lovely heard him and she isn't moving; Mikaela isn't going to order her to do something she doesn't want to. But then she sees the way the man with the liquid nitrogen tank tightens his hands – and while she would never tell the little bot she had to do this, she should probably let her know the danger here.

She reaches towards her shoulder for her and Lovely automatically climbs around her front to rest in her arms, looking up into her face with those glowing white optics. Crouching down she turns her back to the hard, curious eyes, Mikaela cradles the little metal body against her and they both utterly ignore the rest of the room as they talk.

"They want to look at you, Lovely," she whispers, even though she knows the whole room is listening. Even though she knows that Lovely has already heard the doctor say this. "I'm right here if you need to stop – if you _want_ to stop. But they really want to do this."

There is so much trust there ( _too much_ part of her screams), looking right up at her, that even though she can see how terrified Lovely is (feel it with the way her grip will tighten and loosen sporadically) that is all the prompting she needs. A nod of her head (and even in this moment Mikaela wonders if she picked up the mannerism from her) and they are standing again.

Mikaela walks towards the table, sets Lovely down and backs away (only a step) but she hears a whimper leave her anyway. Mikaela doesn't like this at all, she has a very bad feeling about it but she also doesn't see any other option.

The three in lab coats converge and the little bot instantly shies away looking toward her for reassurance. They start to murmur and Lovely turns her head back and Mikaela watches as she tries to track their conversation - they notice too and the conversation shifts.

 _She_ can't quite hear what they are saying but from their gesturing they then seem to be going over points of the transformer's anatomy – pointing to the fingers, certain joints, to….

"Don't touch her antennas," she warns right before a pointing pen could get too close and although Dr. Pratchett and the woman ignore her, the scientist with glasses' eyes flick over to her briefly before he nods.

The flash of acknowledgement is short-lived however because the next moment the female scientist jabs against the antenna on the other side of her head as if she hadn't said anything. And Lovely lets out a loud whine ( _she has become far too familiar to the sound of a Cybertronian in pain_ ).

"Stop," Mikaela yells angrily.

But the woman again ignores her and goes to grab Lovely as if to pin her still and then Mikaela has crossed the small amount of space and grabbed the woman's wrist before she really has time to think it through. She shoves her body between them all and Lovely and with strength from years working on cars twist the woman's arm back farther when she tries to yank away – pulling her into her instead, using her as a temporary human shield against the guards who've finally seemed to remember they have guns.

"I'm sorry, Lady," she hisses, right in her face, "are you deaf or just incredibly stupid? I thought I said _stop_ ," and it is only then when she has given Lovely time to scramble up her back that she pushes her away roughly.

"Stay behind me," she says not even bothering to whisper. It's a gamble, but Mikaela's pretty sure the guy who blushed beneath his freckles as she walked by him would probably be a bit more hesitant to shoot her than the guy with a tank of chemicals was to freeze a bot he might not even be convinced the sentience of.

The standoff is tense then. And she really isn't surprised who breaks it.

Dr. Pratchett, seemingly unconcerned with the altercation that just took place, is instead smiling at her again. "You seem to have bonded with the subject," he says and this time he doesn't pretend to wait for her to answer before continuing. "We'll have to place the other three with you as well since you seem to be making such excellent progress."

"Sir!" it's actually the female scientist who interjects, looking back and forth between the two of them, truly alarmed, even while still holding her wrist. The other man seems a bit overwhelmed by all that has happened. "They have weapons capabilities. You can't –"

"I _can_ ," he says low and even drawing the word out, keeping eye contact with Mikaela the whole time.

But her fear has abandoned her apparently _– maybe she left it in the elevator_ her brain throws in crazily. And anyway if there were more frozen in ice she wanted them out as soon as possible. No child deserves that.

So instead of being intimidated she smiled right back soft and gentle and raised a hand to stroke the little head still buried in her hair. "You hear that, Lovely," she cooed, "you're getting some friends".

Inside a part of her marked a point on her side of the board when she saw incredulity on Dr. Pratchett's face. Pushing her momentum forward she continued, "I will need a few things."

"We've placed most of your belongings in your room," he stated plainly but Mikaela could see how curious he was (and how it was wholly centered on her in this moment – she felt as if she had successful diverted his attention from Lovely but that fascination made her cold) and she didn't acknowledge the fact that that meant they had cleaned out her place already – ignored the little emotional dig. (Was he trying to push her again? _Test her?)_ That wasn't what was important right now.

"More blankets. And towels," she added thinking of the large puddles still left in the bathroom this morning. With three blocks of ice melting at the same time there would be a huge mess. "And a generator," she said thoughtfully. "I don't know if a single outlet is going to be enough for all four," she concluded staring at him expectantly.

"That can be arranged," he said making a gesture to the camera she already knew was there. Mikaela instead let her eyes move over the others in the room and wondered if he noticed the uneasiness of the people surrounding him.


	6. Chapter Six: Back In Your Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.
> 
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by the band Tegan and Sara.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

 

* * *

When she get back to the room she barely spares a glance for the fact that it looks almost nothing like the way she has left it. They have obviously very neatly cleaned out her home. There is a bookshelf (not hers - apparently they didn't feel she would have time to pack that if she decidedly to abruptly leave one day) half full of books and very familiar knick nacks and the sunflower lamp her grandmother got her when she was eight is sitting on a dresser - supposedly filled with her clothes.

Someone even put her throw rug on the floor. And sitting in the middle of it are three covered platters and plastic cups - each carefully labeled with "breakfast", "lunch" and "dinner". Apparently, she thought wryly, they really didn't want to have to come back in here. But Mikaela falls on her late breakfast with more gusto than she thought she would ever have for fruit and granola bars while Lovely explores all the new things with open curiosity.

Now full, she looks over and is pleased to see that the bed (now with her very old comforter atop it) has been moved to the side of the room with the outlet and there is a small generator and a stack of neatly folded thick blankets beside it. That must also mean…

She just barely stops from tripping over her own feet getting up and makes herself walk instead of run to the bathroom, where the three transformers have already been placed. Two in the bathtub and one on the floor because of the lack of space.

Lovely has followed her and makes a distressed sound at the sight, she starts to crawl up her body, pressing into skin a bit too hard in her panic, but Mikaela catches her and takes her back out of there, humming until she calms. She hadn't expected this reaction but maybe she should have. This hasn't exactly been the most peaceful of days and for all of her intelligence, Lovely is still incredibly young and has been through very traumatic things.

"Here, baby girl," she says gently sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom door. "Just let me talk to you a second, alright. We'll get them out. I got you free of that ice – remember?" And it is with that – that all the tension leaves Lovely and she collapses against her.

She relaxes as well leaning back more some more, thinking to the three right through the wall and Mikaela tries desperately in her mind to pull up any of her memories from the handful of baby sitting jobs she had been able to get growing up. ( _Why couldn't she have been kidnapped by people who wanted her to fix their cars? She was actually good at that._ ) But instead her eyes focus again on the little one in her lap currently fiddling with her shirt – and she follows that train of thought, lets her instincts guide her yet again.

"You've been so good with language, honey. I bet you're even really far with figuring out spoken English. Right?" Lovely nodded and cooed happily as she snuggled against her practically vibrating with pride. Mikaela very carefully tilted her little head until they were looking eye to optic. "The thing is Lovely I'm not sure if the new bots coming to us are going to find it as easy gathering and filtering information," she looked again at those antennas that had so fascinated the scientists (and shoved down the anger that threatened to rise up – that was not what she needed now), keeping her guess as to what the life in her arms used to be to herself. "You might need to help them. Would you be their big sister, Lovely?"

Mikaela paused then, she didn't know it this was a concept Lovely understood. She probably knew the word but…

"Sister?" she tilted her head. Yup.

"Sisters are females – with a _bond_ to each other. They stand up for each other and," Mikaela stumbled between giving a dictionary definition and just telling her what she meant to say. Finally she sighed. "What I'm asking you Lovely is to be their big sister – I need you to help me look after them. Protect and teach them."

But Lovely was watching her consideringly again like she had this morning and Mikaela knew even before she said anything that it was going to be something difficult for her to answer.

"Lovely. Big Sister," she agreed, with a nod of her head. "Mikaela. Female. Parent. Mother?"

She had said them so fast and decisively, as if it was fact – if one was true than the rest certainly must be, that by the time she got to mother and Mikaela could hear the clear question she wasn't ready.

"I –" she began, incredibly flustered. She had thought about them as children and about how she need to care for them - was _mothering_ them - but this felt different. Was too much. Too soon. So she took a deep breath and started again. "Lovely, the three in there haven't met even me and you've only known me a day. You shouldn't choose a Mom that fast. You'll see," she smiled, a twist on her face that she hoped didn't look as bad as it felt, "I'm not quite cut out to be a mother."

Then she quickly stood ushering them into the bathroom, ignoring both Lovely's confused whine and the tightness in her chest.

* * *

Lovely is absolutely fascinated by the melting process and it makes Mikaela wonder how much she remembers from being in the ice. She hopes not a lot – Mikaela doesn't want to imagine being trapped like that, only just born, not enough power to function and so _so cold_.

She also can't blame Lovely for staring, they look very different from her – broader, boxier, yet more compact.

 _Weapons_ that one lady had said.

Fuck her, fuck them all. They aren't weapons; they're _children_. She refuses to treat them any different because they have the _potential_ to do something awful, that's not the way you should treat anyone, especially kids. (No, we can't play with _her_. Mommy says she's not a good girl. Don't you _know_ who her family is?)

She goes just with the heat and not the steam this time since two are sitting in the shower and she doesn't want to panic anyone by having them come online to water falling from above. So, it takes awhile but she is right there to smile, encourage and coo for each as optics first alight.

The only difference this time is Lovely is there chattering at them from her shoulder and it is….odd. Because she has heard the Autobots talk in their language before and it _didn't_ sound like _that_. But perhaps this is just a dialect she doesn't know. There has to be many of them – look at how many humans have and Cybertronians have been around centuries longer. (Mikaela finds she is kicking herself more and more for all the things she never thought to ask questions about).

And in the same way she used to hope Lovely understood her tones, Mikaela – although she doesn't know a word of what they are saying – can tell she is comforting them, encouraging them along with her. It starts to dawn on her as she wraps a towel around one, cooing as she does so – and it mimics her, that perhaps the reason her ear doesn't recognize what their speaking as a Cybertronian language is because it isn't one.

She's seen very young human children all together – the babbling nonsense language they can make up amongst themselves yet all seem to know. Why should see assume they automatically know any real language?

So, both Lovely and her keep up a constant stream of conversation as all of the ice melts and she carries them one at a time away (leaving the door wide open and talking louder as she does so) from the giant puddles left behind.

Then they are all left sitting on her bed, all hooked up to the generator, gazing at her expectantly looking absolutely adorable, each bundled in a blanket that swamps them.

"Name," Lovely says breaking the silence.

"What?" Mikaela tilting her head just enough so that she can see her.

"Name. Sisters," she responds promptly like it should be obvious. And Mikaela is very aware of three sets of optics watching this conversation avidly.

"No, Lovely," she said firmly. "Just because I asked you to be Big Sister doesn't mean they're all going to be girls." They held a glare with each other for a moment and she heard a worried chirp from bellow her before finally the bot on her shoulder gave a sound very much like a sigh and started talking to the three very rapidly quickly.

"Male. Male. Felmale," was apparently the final decision.

Then she put one of her delicate hands under Mikaela's chin and gently tilted her head toward the shoulder she was on and said in a serious tone, " _Name_ ," pointing adamantly at the others with her other hand.

Mikaela snorted at her actions from earlier being mirrored and reached for the little body, hugging her in spontaneous delight. "Alright, I'll give them names you silly goose," she laughed, only realizing afterwards she had used the nickname her mother used before….(and she quickly slammed that door shut in her mind.)

But then there was still the naming.

She bites her lip uncertainty - Mikaela knows they will instantly run with whatever she gives them and wants to be careful this time. She think about how larger than life the Autobots often seem despite the fact that Bumblebee is basically her best friend. That when she sees them fighting it still takes her breath away in a mixture of awe and fear. Fear for their safety but also because when you watch metal against metal, so many times your size, trying to beat the shit out of each other just feet away from you - it kicks off something very basic in your brain, a fight or flight instinct (and there is no chance of fighting a Decepticon that might not even notice if it stepped on you).

So, she goes with the only equivalency she can grab hold of in her brain. Going back all the way to Saturday morning cartoons when the TV would be her baby sitter for hours.

 _Fuck_ , she thinks not looking back at the camera but very aware of it, _they're going psychoanalyses the shit out of this._

"Clark," she points first to the one wrapped around her leg that Lovely had only been able to described in her hodgepodge vocabulary as having light weapons (lasers probably she thinks). "Bruce," she names the dark plated one still watching her warily. "And Diana," she smiles at the last of the three, who was adamant about being female.


	7. Chapter Seven: Breakable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.  
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by the singer Ingrid Michaelson.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
  
  
  
  
She soon figures out how easy she had it with just Lovely.   
  
The three arrived mid morning and after the naming, Mikaela is able to get them to rest pretty easily. Because, although it is possible for them to actively recharge and stay awake, they are absolutely exhausted.   
  
Once they're asleep, she moves as quickly and efficiently as possible; grabbing clean clothes from the dresser before moving swiftly into the bathroom. Her haste is half to get back to them as soon as she can and half because there are cameras _everywhere_ and she does not want to linger naked in the shower for the pleasure of watching eyes.  
  
As soon as she re-enters the main room, drying her hair, Lovely crosses over the rug to her silently and hugs her legs tight as if she has been gone for weeks and not just a matter of minutes. Mikaela looks down at the small body that doesn't even reach her knees, the long multi-jointed arms, the delicate head with twin antennas – and those glowing white optics that turn to look up at her; something inside of her lurches at that utterly trusting and expectant gaze.  
  
But she just swallows against the feeling, smiles playfully, and drops her towel on top of Lovely's head. She makes an affronted sound as she scrambles to get out from under it. And, all in all, they have a very nice (and quiet – mindful of those resting) afternoon.   
  
It is that night that becomes the problem.  
  
Where Lovely had reached her full charge around the morning after she had gotten out of the ice - and therefore been overwhelmed by the new sensations coming online then - _this time_ it happens at night.   
  
_This time_ Mikaela wakes up aprubtly in total darkness to whines, movement, panicked, excited and worried chatering. She tries to make out where everyone is but before she can she clearly hears Lovely say, “ _No_!”  
  
But it is too late. The lamp beside her bed explodes raining down glass on her. She hisses, flinching and throwing her arm up automatically. Then there is a hush over the room for a prolonged moment before that high pitched crying whine starts, and this time it’s not one bot but _four_ and the sound very nearly threatens to deafen her.  
  
“Everyone, QUIET,” she says firmly and just like before, the difference between a human child here is stark, there is no petering off – the sound cuts out immediately. “Now,” Mikaela takes a deep breath, ignores the pain for now, there are more immediate things to worry about, “I need to know where everyone is. Turn your optics back on.”   
  
They do and she flinches a bit in the sudden light and bites her lip not to make a sound of pain as that slight movement grinds the glass into her arms more. One, that she can guess is Lovely, is perched at the far end of her bed. But there are two other bright sets shifting around uncertainty in front of a third that huddles in the far corner of the room – apparently they wandered a bit during the night.   
  
“I can’t see as well as you in the dark,” she tries to say lightly tilting her head a feeling stuff shift ( _fuck, there is glass in my hair too? That is a bitch to get out – she remembers shaking out bits of it a week after Mission City_ ). “Who’s furthest from me?”  
  
“Clark,” she hears that sad chirp – the first time she’s heard any of the new three speak English. And knows right away, from his distress and the others’ anxious defensiveness (as if they weren’t sure who to be afraid of) that this was his fault, probably unintentionally she thinks. She remembers clearly Lovely’s pain and confusion at first having all of her systems come on.   
  
She very carefully gets up trying to pool the broken glass, away from her and into one area of her comforter (it’s not so much that there are many large pieces, just lots and lots of tiny ones – he must of somehow pulverized that lamp) so she doesn’t harm herself anymore. She reaches her toe beneath the bed to snag her shoes – hoping the glass didn’t somehow reach under there, the last thing she needs right now is to slice up her foot too – and slips them on. Crunching over the glass sometimes, she eventually reaches the corner.  
  
Lovely follows her making worried noises - somehow recognizing that the bits of glass in her skin (and the blood) are a bad thing. (Or perhaps she has simply grown that very good at reading her, sees she is holding herself different, more careful.)  
  
But Mikaela just keeps moving – her pain can wait. She pauses though to lay a gentle hand on Diana ( _the only one still mostly composed in all the commotion_ ) and Bruce ( _who looks somehow sharper in this half light, as if he has more angles now, but Mikaela can only deal with one thing at a time_ ) first, calming them wordlessly. And when they stop fidgeting, they crowd in close to her legs and Mikaela lets out a relieved breath.  
  
She shuffles the last few steps to the bot huddled in the corner and just absolutely _hates_ how worried Clark looks. How is head is ducked so far down his already compact, armored body, it almost makes a complete ball and he can’t meet her eyes. He just woke up hours ago – he shouldn’t be feeling so _guilty_.  
  
“Honey,” she whispers, “I’m not mad.” She can see the way optics move to her carefully held arm and it throbs just thinking about it but she has a child to comfort – pain is something she can easily ignore, has done so many times in the past. “Yeah, I’m hurt,” she acknowledges. “But I’m a bit more squishy than you all. I’ll heal, alright?” She quirks a grin, edging closer, and getting down on one knee so she can lean down and hug him with her good arm. “We’re both going to make mistakes. You all are just have to learn to be gentle and I’m going to have to learn how to take care of you. “  
  
Carefully, carefully, he uncurls and wraps his stubby arms around her – giving a whimper and nuzzling into her side. And for awhile she just sits there on the floor and holds him, surrounded by the others cuddled close, her right arm held cautiously away. But soon Mikaela feels exhaustion press on her and she knows there is more she still has to get done no matter how tired she is.   
  
So she rouses herself and clears her throat and all optics immediately swing to her. If nothing else, she can’t say her little brood isn’t attentive. “Now do you think you could help me out? All three of you? I’m going to need your help for something else,” she acknowledge Lovely so her eldest didn’t feel left out.  
  
“Remember how I told you about how squishy I am?” she reminds them again ( _both for the point of what she wants them to do now and because it is something she needs them to learn_ ). “Can you see the glass on the floor – even in the dark like this? Do you think you can find it all?” She said in an almost exaggeratedly excited voice trying to make it like a game and they nod excitedly. “Whatever you find put it in the pile where most of it landed on the bed alright?”  
  
Mikaela keeps up her smile until she has reached the confines of the bathroom, closing the door behind her and Lovely. Then by the light of worried optics she casually rip’s the neckline of her shirt with her teeth pulling it down her arms – hissing at even that.   
  
“Mikaela,” Lovely says sadly, seeming to recognize her sounds of pain – just as she had known the Cybertronian ones. “Help?” she reminds.  
  
And looking over from her perusal of the bathroom that had turned up nothing - no medical supplies, not even any tweasers - it gives her an idea. Probably a very bad one. Because she was originally only going to have Lovely act as her light (since their stupid watchers couldn't even bother to stop with this fake night even when something like this happened) but perhaps she could do more. Still though Mikaela pauses for a moment, bites he lip.  
  
This isn’t a matter of having a sentient robot care for her instead of a human doctor – far from it. Ratchet has been her Primary Physician (at his insistence) since she has known him. Not that she put up any fight to it. Mikaela really hadn’t had the heart to let him know that she doesn’t remember ever having a regular doctor. In the past, doctors meant insurance and money – and unless she got really sick that just didn’t seem a necessary expense. She knew that would have scandalized the Docbot.   
  
The real problem was Ratchet had medical training - Lovely did not.   
  
But it still was probably her best bet. Mikaela was not left handed and she could not see her arm as well as she would like in the dark only lit optics and where using her fingers would be a blundering painful mess for her, Lovely’s metal digits are thin and precise.   
  
"Lovely, listen carefully," she said and the seriousness in her voice made the entire bots body go taunt with attention. "Do you think you can help me get the glass out of my skin?"  
  
"Yes! Mikaela hurt. Lovely help," she nodded hard and Mikaela had to smile.  
  
"Only grab the glass," she warns, "and try to be careful not to knick anything while pulling it out."  
  
Then she closes her eyes, grits her teeth, and holds the edge of the sink counter in a white knuckled grip with her left hand and – and trusts. Mikaela feels slightly sick as she watches Lovely carefully pick the bits of glass out of her arm, those delicate appendages stained with her blood. But she makes herself watch, dazedly at times – and sometimes snaps out of it sharply to give directions.   
  
The glass shards pile up ( _from her arm, neck, hair, and a bit in the side of her face - only the arm is deep enough that it might scar she thinks, the rest is superficial_ ) until finally her dear little girl gives her a final careful sweep all over before declaring her finished.   
  
It is brighter in the bathroom she thinks – and realizes it’s not just her tired eyes playing tricks with her when she sees the triplets standing in the doorway watching them.  
  
“See,” she says brandishing her arm _the glass is all gone._ Mikaela thinks she might be a little loopy when it takes her a moment to realize there sounds of distress are for her and she glances at the arm in question to see how bloody it looks.   
  
“I just need to clean up,” she assures them. "Bruce," she asks seeing now that he looks sharper because he seems to have blades – along his arms and the ridges of his back (more light seems to flash off him because of this and it makes her head hurt ). This night is all starting to catch up with her and she desperately needs more sleep. “Can you cut this ruined shirt into strips, please? Diana can you take the glass off the sink and put it in the pile with the rest? Clark, will you help Lovely find me another shirt?”   
  
She makes sure they all have a job and while they do as she asks, Mikaela washes the blood of from her body as gently as possible. When she’s done she wraps her arm in the strips Bruce made. And then pulls on the shirt Clark and Lovely brought for her - careful to move slowly.   
  
They make a sort of nest in the corner away from the bed (and the comforter filled with glass) - she tucks them each in with their individual blankets, but somehow ends up pile upon by four little metal bodies.  
  
It should be claustrophobic, but instead it is oddly comforting and Mikaela is almost instantly enveloped by sleep.


	8. Chapter Eight: Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.  
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by the band Cage the Elephant.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
  
  
It is the perfect day. She knows she’s grinning maniacally but there is open road in front of her and Bumblebee’s agreed to let her drive. She’s eased into it ( _just to tease them both a bit_ ) but now they’re headed into numbers she’s pretty sure normal Camaro’s don’t _ever_ hit. Sam’s got his head out the passenger’s window laughing and screaming at the sheer joy of speed. Bee is blasting “Eye of the Tiger” so loud she can _feel_ the vibrations - and she can almost swear that she can sense his utter happiness all around her, even stronger then the music, seeping through the car's very frame.   
  
Mikaela _never_ wants it to end, wants the road, the song, the laughter, the joy, to keep her here forever.  
  
The lights come on and with a suddenness that physically jolts her, and she squints against the brightness. The force of her current reality takes her breath away for a moment – but only for a moment – and then Mikaela is completely awake and busy soothing her four little ones. The dream is smoothly tucked away, with the ease of practice, deep within her mind, where it couldn’t bother her.   
  
Because she kept hoping for rescue but a part of her ( _growing larger every day_ ) didn’t expect it.   
  
It just wasn’t quite built in her to be dependent on people, had never quite worked out well in her life when she did. So – sure, she daydreamed about a giant metal foot crashing through the wall. But, even in the first few days it felt like what it was, a _dream_.   
  
Just a dream.  
  
Girls like her didn’t get saved. They survived the here and now and buried deep – where it couldn’t hurt them as much - the hope that they’d see everyone again someday.  
  
( _And she was glad she did because that day would be a long time coming_.)  
  
They fell into a pattern of learning, playing, and re-charging ( _interspersed with her own eating and sanitary needs_ ). She would read out loud to them (from her own books – taken so carefully from her trailer and placed upon the bookcase) and when their vocabulary increased started little word games she remembered from elementary school (Lovely was best at this and more than a bit smug about the fact).   
  
And Mikaela was glad she had kept, at least a few of the books she had loved best as a child, because these had _pictures_. She was able to point to things – to tell her little baby bots, this is a dog, this is an apple, this is a house. To at least have basic images to go with the words and definitions.   
  
There were no actual toys, but Mikaela improvised things to play with. Simply, balling up paper from a notebook and throwing it around became an easy favorite. And “tag” was always a classic (this was where the triplets outshown their older sister – whose long arms and shorter legs made “running” cumbersome. They were able to move much quicker, even curl up and roll if they wanted. Although that had ended with Bruce becoming tangled in the rug the first time it was attempted.)  
  
Honestly, Mikaela really didn't know _what else_ to do because after an incident early on, they pretty much started leaving them alone.   
  
It had happened the morning after Clark accidentally exploded her lamp.  
  
She is kneeling on the edge of her bed at the time, having pulled the glass-filled comforter off earlier and deposited in the floor, and is now examining the mark she found on the wall. It was right behind where her lamp once was - a small scorch mark. So tiny she would have missed it if she weren't specificallly searching for it.  
  
But she frowns a bit because it doesn't go deeper ( _shouldn't it? Mikaela is very aware that she really doesn't know any of this for sure_ ), didn't even crack a layer of this wall. And she doesn’t think Clark had any control of his strength – of what she thinks is probably a laser. She doesn't really want to test to see (especially not in this environment) if he can do it stronger though.   
  
And that is when the door opens without warning – it is two armed men bringing her food. But her new dears certainly don't know that. And where Lovely’s first instinct seemed to always be to _analyze_ a threat, Diana, Clark, and Bruce's appeared to be _attack_ it. There is also the fact that these aren’t the same guards from before – they're alert, fast on there feet, and _both_ armed with liquid nitrogen.  
  
But she has been tense every time people enter here since her first day and that hasn’t stopped – if anything with the more sparks’ she responsible for it’s gotten worse. So they might be fast to grab at the nozel of their canister of liquid nitrogen when her little ones move towards them, but she is _faster_ to propel herself off the bed – using surprise, momentum and body weight to hit the closest man as hard as she can, making him fall into his partner.   
  
With all of their attention diverted by the bots, they hadn't been paying attention to her and that is why she was able to get the upper hand momentarily. After they untangle themselves though, she is easy enough to subdue by someone she can clearly tell has a lot of training (and experience by that jaded look).   
  
But she can hear the bots trying to come to her and Mikaela can clearly see in her mind’s eye how this can all get very bad, very fast. “Get behind the bed,” she growls and it’s the first time she’s expressed anger towards them and they don't hesitate to follow her order, all scampering to do so immediately.   
  
She tries desperately to get her mind to work then, to figure out how to get out of this with everyone in tact. Wonders wildly how it got to the point of her bodily pinned under a man with hard eyes and a gun trained on her, this fast. But finds herself barely caring about the presence of a firearm, her mind more preoccupied by the liquid nitrogen, has much more fear for the thought of any of her four frozen again.  
  
And that is when she hears a click of a gun being cocked – and not from the one closest to her.   
  
“Follet?” the man standing asks the one on top of her for direction, and his voice waivers a bit.  
  
But knowledge seems to have settled into her brain immediately. “Let me up,” she says, looking right into brown eyes close to hers that were once unrelenting but are now uncertain. Mikaela is not going to let that opportunity go to waste. “You let me up and they’ll let you leave unharmed,” she says with utter surety, betting upon their fear of that which was different from them.  
  
And it is tense for a few moments but then he nods sharply to her. “We're leaving,” is all he tells his partner. “Stay on the floor until the door closes,” is his order to her. Mikaela simply nods.  
  
Once they are gone she closes her eyes, breathes deep for a few moments.  
  
“Mikaela?” she hears called from the other side of the room, worried and anxious. Smiling and shaking her head then, she rolls to her feet and sees what spooked the men.  
  
Diana it seems had transformed her arm and most of her shoulder into a rather large gun, held steady and sure at the door the men had just left out of, even as she looks up at Mikaela uncertainly. Glancing between her own limb and her caretaker as if she might have done something wrong.  
  
So, that is her first order of business then, Mikaela is quick to dispel this needless worry. “Good girl,” she murmurs, praising the quiet bot, “you protected us.”   
  
She walks over, pick her up, and holds her close, despite the weaponry. “Remember to be careful of this,” Mikaela touches the barrel gently in emphasis, and as if she has forgotten, it transforms back into an arm ( _internally she is fascinated – none of the others have shown any inclination to change so much although perhaps it is to early to tell. Bruce seems able to acquire more edges, Clark can produce lasers, and she thinks Lovely can processes and filters information. Her guess so far was that all of their alt forms were sedentary things, that they would always only choose to change bits and pieces of themselves because it was no fun to be something that did not move_ ). “Just don't use it around us unless there's an emergency, alright?”  
  
“Won't,” Diana chirps, snuggling closer. It tickles Mikaela how very tactile they all are, how much they love to hug and cuddle. She does not remember the Autobots being very much like this and thinks this is probably another thing they have picked up from her.  
  
And after that -well, they tend to knock before they open the door to leave her food. Other than the necessities though ( _tolite paper, clean towels, and feminine products when the time comes_ ), she is left alone with the four sentient robots. Constantly aware of cameras upon them, feeling like an itch between her shoulder blades when she thinks about it too often.  
  
Days pass. Weeks. And she very purposefully doesn't count them. Wonders sometimes if there is something within the bots that tracks time automatically, but Mikaela never asks. It is easier not to miss things (Sam, Bee, the other Autobots, _fuck_ just clean unfiltered air) when she doesn't know how long they have been gone from her. Easier to throw herself completely into caring for these beings who so very much depend upon her when she isn't thinking about what she would be doing at _this very moment in time_ if she weren't here.  
  
Sometimes she will contemplate escape but whenever she does, Mikaela only has to think of the soldier’s grip upon their weapons. Remember the thickness of the walls, she had observed, as she had walked passed that day with Lovely. Just look up into the blinking red eye of the ever watchful cameras and think of the people on the the other end – the rooms upon rooms of people. Picture Dr. Pratchett's blankly cold smile and empty eyes as he observed them, writing steadily upon that clipboard the whole time.   
  
She would not get out alive – and definitely would not be able to leave this place with her four. And Mikaela wouldn't even make the attempt without them, would never leave Lovely, Diana, Bruce and Clark in this place to be possibly frozen again.


	9. Chapter Nine: This Old Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe "Transformers" belongs to Hasbro but I think Mikaela's character began in the Michael Bay Movies so *shrug* on the rights front.  
> A/N 1: Title is a song title by the band First Aid Kit.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading

  
  
  
And then _It_ happened.  
  
 _Not_ escape, _not_ rescue. No, something _much_ different.  
  
The very room shakes ( _this far underground?_ ) and they can hear vague noises from far above.  
  
Mikaela is sitting cross legged on the floor with all four circled around her at the time, she is reading to them as she tends to do each day. _“The Little Engine That Could”_ is the chosen book - and she is quite a ways past feeling embarrassed at doing voices and making sound effects, like train noises, by this point. Especially when it delights her little ones so – and seems to encourage them to mimic her with their own little hooting sounds which is just to cute for words. At the unexpected interruption to their routine, she slowly sets the book down, purposefully remaining still and calm even as her heart races.  
  
“Try and listen, Lovely,” she demanded urgently when the sounds continue, her own ears much too inadequate to hear anything clearly at all. And for a moment her eldest looks startled because Lovely never attempted to listen outside this room, seeming to rarely go farther than voice level because of the pain many frequencies still caused her. But Mikaela had always had the inkling that her sensors were extremely strong – that if they were on the outside this room, she would eventually be trained to be a Scout. ( _Thinks Bee, however young in Cybertronian years, would have delighted in having a student to teach the basics to._ )  
  
She runs a hand over Diane, Bruce, and Clark in turn – soothing them – as they tensely wait for her scans.  
  
“Something happen on surface. Fight. Explosion. Damage to facility. People injured. Dr. Pratchett dead. Evacuating,” Lovely finally says, her words more sounding more mechanical than normal but still stumbling over themselves a bit (and her glowing optics seemed to squint with the strain).  
  
“Mikaela,” Diane asked, “Dr. Patchett – bad man from before?”  
  
Before she could puzzle that statement out the electricity shut off and Mikaela automatically darted to her feet. The only light of the room now were four sets of glowing optics that suddenly came closer to her quickly in fright. They were all quiet as they waited, the loudest sound seemed to be the low hum of the ventilation system that was apparently still active (probably on a different circuit – _but at least I still have air,_ the thought ran through her mind wildly).  
  
Mikaela tried to ignore all of this though, she just kept staring at the door for several minutes, tensely anticipating the moment it would open and someone would come to evacuate them.  
  
Time seemed to lengthen, and eventually all sounds, from outside, stopped.  
  
And no one had come.  
  
No one had come.  
  
That sunk in hard, settling deep in her chest, and leaving her startling blank, taking a long moment for her to even realize the implications.  
  
They had been left.  
  
 _Left._  
  
Left in an abandoned facility underground where no one knows where she is.   
  
_Not only kidnapped, but abandoned._  
  
Underground. In a single room with no electricity and four baby transformers.  
  
“Mommy?” Clark asked, clutching onto her leg tight.  
  
“What?” She blinked down stupidly, her mind still going in circles.  
  
“Clark,” Bruce hissed at him “we don't call her that. We have not asked yet.” He looked up worried, before his bright optics darted down again.  
  
She crouched down and picked up her most wary little one – at times she hadn’t been sure he had even liked her very much. “Is this what you want?” she asked, the conversation she had with Lovely (what felt like a lifetime ago now) rose up in the back of her mind. She did not think she was a good choice as a mother - but it was their choice.   
  
He held her tightly and whispered almost too quietly for her to hear, “Please.”  
  
Mikaela thought she felt her heart crack.  
  
“Please,” she heard Clark say from where he clung to her leg.  
  
“Please,” Diane echoed emphatically, tugging at her other pants leg almost hard enough to rip it.  
  
She felt Lovely nimbly climb up her back with ease, “Please,” she whispered, right in her ear, and Mikaela blinked hard to stop herself from crying.  
  
“Of course you can call me that,” she said hoarsely, holding Bruce tight and trying to look at all of them, in the dark, as she said this. “I’ve been your Mother since the moment your ice melted.”  
  
And she hated to break the moment but there were very pressing things to deal with. Her food for the day had been brought that morning – so she could try to ration it out for a while ( _but how long?_ A voice asked and she squashed it mercilessly.)  
  
It was her dear little bots she was most holding down panic about though – they needed energy to survive. None of them wanted to go back to....sleep. And she desperately did not want that for them either.  
  
“I need you all to listen to me now. This is very important. We need to be careful in what we do. Check the generator,” she urged, “see if it's full – if it's not see if you can mange to pull any energy into it. If it is, take your naps now and try to get as much from the electrical recpticals as you can, I'm not sure if you'll be able to after today.”  
  
When they were asleep, she let her eyes adjust to the dark as best she could, and checked a few things for herself.  
  
She placed all of their extra blankets next to the bed. And compiled her stash of food - the bits she had not eaten different days - and placed it within easy reach. It wasn't a lot but she might be able to spread it out over some time ( _she had gone times with very little food before_ ). Another worrying factor for her had been water (she had no idea how long the plumbing would last with the electricity down so she filled the tub and any containers she could find up with water.  
  
All Mikaela had left after that was to wait for her children to wake up. To sit in the dark and try not to let her thoughts swallow her whole - to hold her own climbing anxiety by the throat as she scoured her brain for anything that might help them survive this.   
  
Take each moment as it came, walking the tightrope of planning carefully while trying desperately not to think very far into the future. Because Mikaela might be a realist, but even she knew some things had the power to crush her if she examined them to carefully, and those small forms sleeping so trustfully needed her.  
  
 _Mother_ , they had called her. Only now, alone in the dark, with no optics on her (no cameras monitoring her), did Mikaela allow herself to cry. To break just a little - _to want. To remember._  
  
She was lonely, so lonely. The dark, the quiet, only heightened that feeling. Lovely, Clark, Diane, and Bruce filled a whole, created a joy she had never known before. And most of the time, she could throw herself completely into their care, ignore her memories.   
  
Most of the time, it was enough.   
  
It was only when she was the only one left awake that her mind brought thoughts of the others to the fore. That blue optics instead of white smiled at her, bantered with her, taught her. That a brave boy who always seemed to have trouble believing he was a hero, reached out to her with a gentle hand.   
  
As much as this hurts, she welcomes this nightly ritual - goes over each of her friend's faces and frames carefully, mouths their names in the dark. Because Mikaela fears forgetting, knows that unlike her Cybertronian friends, she is not machine, is organic and fallible in memory (among many other things).   
  
Sam. Well, time has made simply thinking his name hurt less. Made it feel like less of a wound. Mikaela know she should now trust anything Dr. Pratchett said the first day she was placed in this room ( _and she feels a savage twist of satisfaction deep in her gut at the knowledge that he is dead_ ), but the words are still there, still internalized. That it would be _easy_ for Sam to accept that she would leave, to accept the forged note.  
  
Mikaela does not to let those sorts of thoughts take root, she stops it whenever they try. She, dries her eyes with rough hands, after all, she has more than enough to worry about in the present inside this room without letting what ifs take up space in her mind.


End file.
